Greet the King loudly—
But do not expect mercy.
(Threatening them once again with her finger, Amelfa enters the palace. The triumphant procession begins to pass by. First come the Royal Warriors, on foot and mounted, with faces puffed up with pride. Then the suite of The Queen of Shemakhan, of as many colours and as fantastic as those in Eastern fairy tales. There are giants and dwarfs, people with one eye in the middle of their forehead, people with horns, with heads like a dog, negros and negro boys, female slaves covered with veils carrying coffers and precious plate. The curious splendour of the procession disperses for a time the weight of expectation. All become as gay as children.)
(The golden chariot appears with the King and Queen. The King has aged somewhat, has become restless, has lost his majestic carriage, and all the time looks fondly into the eyes of the haughty Queen. The Queen capriciously turns away, expressing her secret impatient irritation by jerky movements. The People move about, jump, turn somersaults, and shout a joyful welcome.)
People
(shouting).
Long life to thee! Hurrah!
May thou have every good thing!
(Begin to sing.)
“We are thy faithful servants,
Who kiss the Royal feet.